the crazy journey to 100lbs

Moments We Never Speak Of

(Note: Sometimes I write slam poetry and songs and what not. This is one of those poems. Enjoy.)

Moments We Never Speak Of

It was two in the morning and my breathing was so even you thought I was sleeping

I wasn’t sleeping, if I had been then maybe none of this would’ve happened

You ran hot so when your clammy hand slid between the sheets to snare mine I could feel myself melting into you already

Slim fingers wrung my wrist and lighting fell heavy in the air

At the time I remember thinking this was chemistry, science project, first prize to make my parents proud

Now I know this was the lightning before a storm that makes dogs run and quiver in their beds

You lifted my hand gently still playing the role of loving boyfriend, understanding boyfriend, respectful boyfriend and the spaces between my fingers screamed ‘somethings not right here, somethings not right’

I like to think you hesitated for a moment, felt the silence of your room pressing down on my windpipe, taking words I wouldn’t have dared to say even if I could conjure them

But I know your pause was simply to check I was still sleeping

What followed would ruin the relative peace of this poem and to be honest I think you have ruined enough so I’ll let this ink spill on a black page somewhere no one would ever think to look as I’ve done so many times before

For you

To allow you to remain an innocent bystander in your own mind

As soon you left for work I ran to the bathroom, tripping over the regret and horror that had somehow wormed its way out of my chest and crystallised on the floor

I was still in the shower, mind god knows where, lungs so full of steam I was sure I’d never breathe normally again, when you returned nine hours later and asked loudly, in between tuneless whistles, where your dinner was and why I hadn’t made it yet

This was the first time I remember not being able to look you in the eyes over the dining table and the first time I cried myself to sleep with you lying next to me

Flash forward weeks, months, days, time passing, on and on ticking

I had pushed that day so far down into the pit of my stomach that I hadn’t been able to finish a meal since

I still have trouble finishing my meals, finishing anything really

You’re drunk in this memory but you were drunk so often that it almost became our normal state of interaction

You, childish, confident, greedy, limitless

Me, two steps behind holding a sick bucket and your wallet to make sure you’d have enough money left to pay for your bus ticket into work the next morning

We left the club together, shouts of faux congratulations you’ve pulled, get your coat, got a condom, get a number, raining down on our backs like lead bubbles, glass bullets

It took me by surprise when you shifted from leaning on me to dragging me into that shadow-drenched alley that I see in my dreams more nights than not

The steam turned steel wool in my lungs slithered up my throat and pierced deep causing me to yell out

Your still clammy hand was already over my mouth

I tried to catch your eye, catch your wrist, twist, move, do anything at all but you had me pinned like a piece of evidence against the brick so hard I could almost feel myself phasing through, through to the living room on the other side so that at least someone could see how much fear was pouring out of me

The fact the next thing I can recall is me sitting on the floor, in the dark, with my back against that same wall is almost as commonplace as the fact you were gone and so was my underwear and my ability to hear rape jokes without feeling the steel in my body slide into my organs a little deeper

When you messaged me over Facebook the next summer as if you’d messaged me every day that you hadn’t, meaning everyday since

I replied politely, let the veil of normality act as a sounding board for the things I know I should have said and even agreed that it could be fun to meet up for coffee only to message you on the day saying how sorry I was but I was simply too sick to make it